Page 53 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“No, Jas. The knife stays in my pocket at all times. I help load the containers.”

“Which are full of dead bodies.”

I rub my face. “We don’t know that for sure.”

She folds her arms over her chest, painting herself in a very vulnerable light. This is no place for a girl, and Jas is tiny. She broke her shoulder last year after tripping over a stair. The machinery here could crush her, reduce her body down to ash in seconds.

“Jas,” I sigh, rubbing my temple. “Please get out of here. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Please don’t become like him. I couldn’t bear it if?—”

A gunshot tears through the atmosphere like thunder, the shadows parting to reveal thick gunpowder, trailing up into the air like smoke.

My heart stops beating as I turn back around, my eyes meeting sodium lights instead of Jasmine’s face.

One look down tells me I failed her.

“Jas!” I shriek, my pulse spiking, the very foundations of the world coming loose, sending everything into strife.

My vision distorts, my head foggy. Instinct drives me over to the man behind us. He has some fucking nerve, shooting the most important person in my life.

Fueled by red hot anger, I slip my gun and bury the blade straight into his chest before he can take a shot at me. Blood squirts, a blood curdled cry echoing through the columns of containers.

I return to Jas, dropping onto my knees, my hands soaked in her blood as I apply pressure to the wound in her chest, which continues expanding.

“No, Jas.”

She coughs and splutters, dying while looking at the stars.

“Jas…” I whisper, my voice completely broken.

In trying to be a good person, I failed to protect the only individual in this world I have ever loved.

18

FIA

The aromaof bacon and eggs sends me downstairs the following morning. Emil, Luka and another man are deep in discussion.

Emil looks stressed out of his ass, running a hand through his hair, more concentrated on his friends’ faces than the breakfast on his plate.

He sips coffee, staring over the rim of the cup with dark eyes. I crash the second he looks over at me, ready to surrender and return to my knees to please him any way I can.

“Breakfast is in the pan,” says Emil, directing me to the other side of the kitchen while the men talk business.

I pile eggs and bacon onto a plate, pour coffee from the pot, and take a seat at the table, their conversation fading to silence as the three of them turn my way.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

“This is Fia, Ivan,” says Emil, introducing me to his friend.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Ivan oversees a lot of the dockyard operations,” explains Emil. “He writes shipping manifests, ensuring things are in working order.”

I frown, staring at the man. He has a terrifying edge, his piercing eyes shooting right my way. Where Emil tries to understand my soul, this guy looks like he wants to obliterate it.

“How long have you been in the Bratva?”